


“Summer wine”, one-shot for a challenge

by AzureAngel2



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28637328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAngel2/pseuds/AzureAngel2
Summary: Summary: The poem used for the up-coming fan ficletts is a short monologue in which a lover addresses his lady in an effort to encourage her to express her love for him…As a result, the poem becomes a lively, expressive song extolling the immortality of love.Since my OC Cassandra is a direct clone copy of Nagina, the daughter of Qui-Gon Jinn and Sheev Palpatine’s half-sister Mandré, this calls forth to another merry go around through time and space.Time frame: The story takes place between 68 BBY andPlaces of choice: various planets of the SW universeFurther reader warning: Please excuse my weird English! I am German. English is only my Second language!Rating: not sureDisclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company
Kudos: 1





	“Summer wine”, one-shot for a challenge

_Drink to me, only with thine eyes_   
_And I will pledge with mine;_   
_Or leave a kiss but in the cup,_   
_And I’ll not look for wine._   
_The thirst that from the soul doth rise_   
_Doth ask a drink divine:_   
_But might I of Jove’s nectar_   
_I would not change for thine._

**1\. Master Dooku, Coruscant, 68 BBY:**

“There is an urban legend. It is only known to those who are aware that there once adversaries to our order. Or those who are oenophiles just like us.”

While saying so, Jocasta Nu smiled like a Tooka. It was a wide grin filled out by the most perfect set of teeth imaginable. And gave her a wild and dangerous streak that belied her otherwise strict appearance: a high-necked Jedi robe and a firm bun.

“Let’s hear it, sausage!” the Jedi master opposite to her said.

He was a giant of almost two metres. But that was not the only striking thing about him. His dark eyes were pools of passion and his full lips promising. He carried himself with an easy athleticism. His voice had the range of a stage actor or even opera singer.

Yet it was his muscular intelligence and splendid humour that interested his lover the most. Good looks faded away, but a mind like his would never fail to amaze her.

Unasked, Dooku poured Jocasta another glass of Naboo blossom wine.

She raised a submissive hand. “I could not possibly...”

“Oh, sausage!” he breathed back, granting her a promising gaze. “We are just getting started. Besides, Qui-Gon is in no need for a baby-sitter. He can manage perfectly on his own. A very independent padawan.”

She nodded at that. “But I fear, he will never fully embrace the codex.”

“That’s what I like about the boy. He has his own code. I can live with that.” He cleaned his mouth with a napkin. “And he has a beautiful mind, just like you, sausage. He is able to collect data and catalogue them for a conclusion in less than a minute.”

Jocasta toasted towards him and took a deep sip from her wine. “During the Sacking of Coruscant two Sith lords are said to have invaded the office of Supreme Chancellor Berooken.”

At that, Dooku rose one of his bushy eye brows. “Their names?”

“Adraas and Angral the legend tells us. The latter had apparently murdered the good chancellor.”

That made him laugh heartily. “They never last long, our Supreme Chancellors.”

She shrugged at that. “Anyway, the two Sith thought that the wine they found was an excellent vintage, but,...” Jovially, she winked at Dooku. “They thought it to be… right at the end of its cellar life.”

After some moments, the tall man swept to his feet, leaned over and gallantly pressed a kiss on the dorsum of her right hand.

Their affair was a forbidden one, but they greatly enjoyed each other’s wit and knowledge.

For their rendezvous, the two Jedi masters always met in a secret room of the Jedi Archives. It was full of texts and items that were on the forbidden index. Treasures of the extinct Sith religion, such as the cursed mask of Darth Momin.

**2\. Qui-Gon Jinn, Naboo, 59 BBY:**

Alcohol was not recommended for Jedi. Which was a shame really! Because the wine in his cup possessed a beautiful bouquet. Too intoxicating to be ignored.

Qui-Gon Jinn, a young Jedi knight of twenty-one years, smiled into his neatly trimmed goatee.

Some of the rules of his ancient religious order were redundant. And others, to be honest, plain stupid.

Of course, alcohol could blur the connection to the Force. But in principle, any Force-sensitive person was able to detoxify their body. Therefore he or she should remain sober while drinking large quantities of alcohol.

Besides, the young man was able to use a special type of Force flow, which ensured that consumed alcohol did not impede his senses. It was a trick that his master, Dooku, had taught him. The latter loved to enjoy an occasional glass of wine in the evening hours.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon beamed. “That is very kind.”

 _“Namasté!”_ was the cheerful answer of the human girl in front of him. _Bowing to (the devine in) you!_

While he drank, the stranger smiled back at him, her brown eyes alight with the fire works around them.

He studied her closer.

She was nothing like Tahl, his secret love interest within the Jedi order. Oh, no! They were like night and day.

A mane of curly red hair, that reminded him of corkscrews, framed the strangers features. Her skin was milky-white and sprinkled with freckles. She was about eighteen years old, dressed in peasant clothing.

When his cup was half-empty and he started to feel slightly light-headed, the jedi knight asked, “What’s the name of this spirit?”

She frowned, but not for long. “That is blossom wine from the nearby Gallo Mountains.”

Because he had not anywhere to go tonight, Qui-Gon stayed on. Somehow he felt comfortable around her. She was as easy as a summer’s breeze and had more than wine to offer.

That’s what the Living Force told him.

He refrained from testing her Midi-chlorians though. He had not come to Naboo as a seeker, but as a mere observer.

**3\. Barin Samye, Corellia, 30 BBY:**

Many intergalactic travel guides described the Gold Beaches of Corellia 'as one of the greatest natural wonders of the Core Worlds'. A must-do during a holiday. Not only had the powers of time and nature combined their forces to grind down the sand crystals. The beaches themselves possessed a highly reflective quality due to the maritime organisms.

But to Barin Samye the greatest miracle on this island was the woman right in front of him. Her head was crowned with fresh jebwa flowers. As usual she wore no make-up, but she did not need to. Her smile was like warm sunshine. And her eyes sparkled brighter than twin stars. She simply looked gorgeous in her emerald green wedding gown.

He gazed up to her round and happy face, full of love for him.

The lively and funny kindergarten teacher could have had any man, but she had chosen him. Somebody who suffered from achondroplasia. This particular form of dwarfism had just given him a height of 4 feet 5 inches.

To Nagina this did not matter. She didn’t judge a book by its cover. People’s hearts mattered to her. Even that of her uncle, Sheev Palpatine.

In disguise, the popular Naboo politician was among the two-hundred guests. He did not wish to be officially connected to today’s wedding, even though he paid for it. The reasons for it were complicated. Things about him usually were.

Barin Samye smirked, but not for long. There was a wedding vow to speak and a pair of eyes to sink into.

Right now he could not care less for dirty politics, the Force or the unlucky family he married into. Nagina was the woman whom he wanted to get old with. Preferably on Corellia. But he would follow her anywhere. Because she was a keeper.

**4\. Lor San Tekka, Lothal, 19 BBY:**

Love had been the last thing on his mind, when he had come to this planet. To choose Lothal had been a strategic matter. The planet lay right in the path of the Outer Rim Trade route. Which was very convenient. For he feared he had to travel a lot in the weeks to come.

The universe was literally on fire. The ancient Jedi order had been officially outlawed by the current government. Which was not the Republic any more, but the First Galactic Empire.

As a historian, Lor San Tekka had specialized on the Sith, a religious order of Force-wielders devoted to the dark side of the Force. Therefore he knew that, according to the 'Rule of Two', either the current master or his apprentice had to be responsible for all the on-going murder and destruction.

The Jedha-born human was certain that even the civil war, which plagued the galaxy since three years, had to be an intrigue of the notorious dark siders. But just a very few persons would really listen to his misgivings. Especially since it had been announced that Jedi Master Mace Windu and three of his comrades had tried to murder the head of state.

He could not, would not believe the HoloNet newscasts or the grapevine of Coruscant. Somebody was producing fake news out there. Deliberately and filled with bad intentions. Someone who hated the Jedi and all that they stood for.

Such deceit was typical for the Sith. Facts distorted beyond recognition. The truth tainted.

Therefore his conscience had made Lor San Tekka save various items from the library of the Jedi temple.

Due to text studies he knew that there was an abandoned Jedi temple here on Lothal. Sooner or later he would find it and bring his treasures there. Perhaps he could even get in contact with Jedi survivors.

But instead of serving the Force, he stood in the kitchen of his new neighbour and did her washing up.

The middle-aged widow was a complete mystery to him. Old Jho had insured him that she was one-hundred percent trustworthy, but there were so many things about her that seemed not right.

A plain kindergarten teacher like her should not have such a profound knowledge about the Sith.

What made him even more uncomfortable was, that Mistress Nagina kept unbelievable riches in her rural cottage. Like an entire batch of Naboo blossom wine or a brooch he could trace straight back to the area of Exar Kun.

Lor San Tekka let out a deep sigh, when he picked up an item her lips had touched earlier on.

This woman mentally overtaxed him. He felt like a drunkard, struggling hard to stay on his feet. There was something intoxicating around her.

“Who are you?” he asked the mug and eyed it closer for thorough inspection. It was covered with slushy hearts and the counterfeit of Anakin Skywalker, the 'Hero without fear'. The Jedi knight literally had been the poster boy of the war effort against the Seperatists.

Why would somebody with such an unhealthy relationship towards ancient Sith artefacts cherish a Jedi knight like the groupie of a musical artist?

Something was amiss in this household. He would need to dig deep. Actually deeper than he had ever before with his archaeology gear.

Lor San Tekka lowered his voice. “Why are you here?” he continued, not sure whether he referred to the ceramic piece in his shaking hands, Mistress Nagina or himself.

**5\. Sheev Aurelius Cosinga Palpatine, Kamino, 19 BBY:**

The weather outside was murderous. And it would remain that way for the duration of his stay.

In the privacy of his guest quarters, the Emperor of the known galaxy poured himself a glass of wine. About one-third full.

He was not thirsty at all. It was simply an old habit of his. One glass before he went to bed. To calm his nerves. He could not allow himself more than that.

His former master, Darth Plagueis, once had told him in a fit of good humour that a Sith should leave alcoholic drinks aside. The reason was simple. A master could always run danger to get murdered by his dark acolyte or the other way around. The only way to get plastered was the feeling of dark glory from a victory.

“You should have paid heed to your own advice,” Sheev Palpatine sniggered, remembering every little detail of his master’s demise.

He moved the glass to his lips, immediately smelling the unique bouquet of the wine.

Instantly, he paused to read the sticker on the bottle. It said: 'manufactured at the Summit Farm Blossom Winery, Gallo Mountains, Naboo'.

“Some things never change.”

There were mechanisms and rhythms out there, that went on undisturbed by his fairly new reign. Like the harvesting of pretty flower blossoms.

Like a true wine connoisseur, the Emperor held the glass up, evaluating the spirit by sight. First, the straight angle view, followed by the side view. Then he moved on to the titled view. Last, came the best part, the swirl. Since he was not a bloody beginner, he went for open air 'freestyle'.

“Ah, perfect 'legs'!” he praised as wine ran down the sides of the glass in a satisfying way. Indicating immediately that this spirit was of rich alcohol and glycerine content. The taste would be big, ripe, mouth-filling and dense.

“Which year is it?” he wondered aloud and gazed back at the bottle sticker. “Ah, the year of Nagina’s birth.”

Saying out his niece’s name did not hurt after all. Especially now with her re-birth on its way. He had all he needed for the actual ritual. Virtues that his tutor would have not accepted. Ambition, resourcefulness and courage, in the form of devotion. To his only true family member. And this certainly was not the sad excuse of a man, who once was known to the galaxy as General Skywalker.

From a hidden pocket in his robes Sheev Palpatine produced the item that would ensure that he was not making just a brainless clone copy of Nagina.

The Sith brooch was not much to gaze it at first sight. It had a smooth high gloss finish. There were several rounded indentations. The size was not magnificent either. No more than one and thee quarters high by two and three quarters wide. It was sculpted in the fires of Moraband, in antiquity known as Koriban. And it came with a pin style backing for attachment.

A terrible grin formed on his distorted features.

All in all, the artefact only revealed its powers to the more attentive observer. The one that was not fooled by its humble appearance.

The brooch had done him an unbelievable favour, when his niece had been attacked by her murderer.

“You are in there, tucked up safe and sound,” he whispered and stroked the surface tenderly.

In the moment of Nagina’s passing, the piece of jewellery had acted out like the proboscises of an Anzat. It had soaked up her soul, devoured all that had been the core of her being. Not out of malice or insatiable hunger though. It had simply followed it’s main order. To protect her from great harm.

And in many ways the Emperor was relieved about it.

A Naboo should never die in bed, but lying on the ground. There was a tradition among the believers of the old gods. The dying were moved from the mattress to the floor. Experienced members of the family were usually present to help decide the opportune moment for such a replacement.

Sheev Palpatine raised his wine glass for a toast.

Today was the twelfth day after his niece’s passing.

On far away Naboo, Director Krennic had organized the _mukhagni_ , the cremation ceremony. The ashes of Nagina’s corpse were to be scattered over a sacred body of water. The Solleu River, which ran straight through the city of Theed, was perfect for the task. It had served the local population since the dawn of their civilisation.

All was well according to plan.

With her empty vessel gone, the Emperor could go on to the next step of his niece’s re-birth.

He led the glass to his mouth and drank.

A flood of sweetness filled him, pleasing his senses.

“Perfect!” he mumbled.

Leaning back in his arm chair, Sheev Palpatine remembered how Ars Veruna, the immediate predecessor of Queen Amidala, had once invited him.

The wind of the past rose and filled the room with words.

“Bring wine for Naboo’s celebrated Senator.” - “Thank you, Majesty. I’ve gone without blossom wine for too long.” - “Then bring him two goblets, and keep the supply flowing until his thirst is slaked.”

The Emperor laughed until tears smarted from his eyes.

A thirst like his could never be slaked.

Nagina’s demise had only shown him the fragility of mortal life. He would find ways to prolong his reign on the Galaxy. With means that others would consider 'unnatural'. But he would prevail. Better than any wine bottle in a wine cellar.

**6\. Orson Callan Krennic, Scarif, 14 BBY:**

Within an instant, the universe had turned upside down. But it could be worse. Much worse.

In many cases, secondary and tertiary blast injuries resulted in significant blood loss.

Director Krennic remained lying on his back, his left hand pressed on his abdomen.

The last time that he had felt so broken, had been after an evening with too much alcohol. It was not clever to mix Corellian whiskey with Naboo blossom wine. Plus it did not do either spirits any justice. It was plain barbaric.

Closing his eyes, he started an inner inventory.

There seemed to be no broken bones.

All his limbs were present and fully functional.

Apart from a slight ringing in his ears, everything was okay.

One thing disturbed him immensely though.

The Imperial engineer and prize-winning architect sat up straight.

Normally, he had no objections to sand. It provided a nice past-time at the beach. But in his mouth it was disturbing. And down his nose and throat it was simply annoying.

While he fought hard to get back on his feet, he grumbled like a rancor.

His exit from the burning Citadel Tower had not been as smooth and elegant as planned.

 _“Freck´ me dead!”_ he cursed under his breath, his voice rougher then ever.

Many of his problems had started with Saw Freckin’ Gerrera.

The disappearance of the Erso Family from Coruscant.

The murder of Ina on Lothal.

The vanishing of little Jyn on Lah'mu.

And now all the multiple explosions that shook the island.

The head behind 'Project Stardust' split out a huge batch of sand, feeling slightly like a cement mixer while doing so.

Villains were challenging. Not only physically, but psychologically.

One explosion would have been fine for him. Two would have been still okay. Though three were a bit much.

“Did you need to blow up everything? _Get stuffed!_ ” he muttered.

Annoyed, Director Krennic gazed at the burning tower. It had taken him almost five years to complete the entire Imperial security complex. And this crazy terrorist from Onderon had demolished it to a smoking ruin in less than half an hour.

Of course, he had known that there were possible sacrifices to be made. After digging deep into the religious beliefs of Naboo that part had been kyber crystal clear to him. But he had hoped that he had to give but a hand full of _Basmati_ rice or some Millaflowers.

“Very well!”

Suddenly, Director Krennic noticed that something essential was missing. In panic, he looked around. But not for long.

His large duffel bag lay next to him in the sand, still and unmoving. As one would expect of a bag. But this one had alive content inside.

Worried, he darted for the item, opened it and took a peak.

His tears came unwanted, but there were a sign of relief.

The little girl was still inside, unharmed as far he could tell. The medical breathing mask was still in place.

“Pete!” a sharp voice called out.

Shaken to the core, he watched a shoretrooper running towards him. The man carried a severely damaged helmet under his arm. Which proved once more that Imperial amour was complete bantha poodoo.

“Are you okay, mate?” the Imperial soldier moved on.

“Daggett!” he yelped in reply.

With that he quickly closed the bag and waved his left arm wildly.

“What happened? Where is anybody?” he let out when the man was almost in reach.

The shoretrooper stopped, breathless. “Ter-terorist ac-activities.”

“That’s what it is, okay,” Director Krennic answered innocently, switching to his alter ego as radar technician.

“Can we give you a lift?” The Imperial soldier pointed towards a batch of equally battered looking shoretroopers.

“Sure, sure,” he lied promptly.

Company was the last thing he needed. Not with a half-conscious girl inside a bag. A clone he basically had stolen from the commander-in-chief. The Emperor himself.

“Want me to take that?” the Imperial soldier offered and took a step closer.

The director’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “My bag?”

“Jepp.”

“Negative, Daggett.” Vehemently, he shook his head. “I better carry this. Classified stuff and so.”

“Sure about it, Pete? Looks kinda heavy that.”

He smiled so much at the Imperial soldier that it hurt the corners of his mouth. “I am a man and not a jawa. No worries!”

The shoretrooper shrugged. “If ya say so!”

**5\. Zevulon Veers, Chandrila, 11 BBY:**

The boy just loved those carefree summer days in the back-country. When the sun light was just right, the hillsides and farmland glowed even greener. The air was pure, with a constant underlying scent of grass and wild flowers to it. Therefore he did not miss decaying Corellia a single bit.

Instead of spending the Festival of Stars within the boundaries of Coronet City his parents, Maximilian and Cornelia Veers, had checked in with a dear friend for the third time in a row.

To be with Director Krennic at his family seat, a small apple farm, was always great fun. He worked miracles with his tool case and a barbecue thong. The Empire seldom had able men like him at hand.

Making a face, Zevulon remembered his stay during the last COMPNOR youth camp. Those drill instructors had not been fun at all, just plain bullies.

Over the table, his best friend, Cassandra, grinned at him. He could not help but to grin straight back at her.

The girl was not the director’s real daughter, but when one watched their dynamic it was hard to believe that she was adopted. They were nothing but sweet together.

His own father, a high ranking soldier in the Assault Armour Division, was not so understanding and kind. Usually, he had the sensitivity of a bulldozer. Here at the Krennic apple farm though, he had a much more patient and good-natured attitude towards life. Perhaps it was the light summer breeze.

“C’mon, Max!” Director Krennic was flabbergasted. “Real _sangria_ contains fruit. Preferably large chunks of peach. Not only orange or lemon peel.”

“Then I mixed it up with the _tinto verano_.”

“Really? But that consists of red wine, _casera_ , ice cubes and, maybe, just maybe, once slice of citrous fruit.”

“Just listen to the two of you,” giggled his mother. "Sounding like Coruscanti bar keepers."

Her voice made one of his baby brothers stir. But it did not end there. Little Scipio opened up his green eyes and started cooing, while Lucius slept on in the makeshift cradle. Earlier on Director Krennic had rearranged a large apple crate to fit both of the twins for their bed time. He had attached some rope to the construction and had created them a bed right under the stars.

By now Scipio had reached the decibel level of a starting Star Destroyer.

“Hey, little fellow!” Director Krennic addressed the baby and the laugh lines around his blue eyes deepened. “Can't sleep, eh?”

In agreement, Scipio produced a fierce war cry.

“I see.” The tall Imperial officer picked the fussy bundle up, while its twin slept on. “Well, you know, I have this daughter and singing her a song always helps to get her into dreamland.”

“Dad!” Cassandra protested, her cheeks aflame.

He winked at the girl. “Well, my secrets guard themselves, my pink unicorn.”

  
There were a lot of nasty rumours about Director Krennic. They ranged from _“_ _vain fool”_ , up to “ _mean viper”_ and even _“_ _soulless killer”_.

Whatever his public appearance within the Galactic Empire was, around his Cassandra he was only a family man.

Zevulon leaned back in his garden chair and so did his parents, holding hands like lovers do. To have their generous host sing was always a special treat.

Everybody watched Director Krennic cradling the still fussy Scipio in his arms. Then he rose his husky, vibrant voice.

_“_ _I walked in town on silver spurs that jingled to_

_A song that I had only sang to just a few_

_She saw my silver spurs and said let's pass some time_

_And I will give to you summer wine_

_Oh, oh summer wine_

_..._

_My eyes grew heavy and my lips they could not speak_

_I tried to get up but I couldn't find my feet_

_She reassured me with an unfamiliar line_

_And then she gave to me more summer wine_

_Oh, oh summer wine_

...

_When I woke up the sun was shining in my eyes_

_My silver spurs were gone, my head felt twice its size_

_She took my silver spurs, a dollar and a dime_

_And left me cravin' for more summer wine_

_Oh, oh summer wine”_

Nobody broke up in loud cheers or frenetic applause after the song was finished. Because Scipio was sound asleep. And he was not the only one. Cassandra snored softly in her seat.

“Yepp, always works,” Director Krennic spoke somewhat triumphantly. Then his gaze fell on Zevulon. “Bed time for every one below thirty-five I would say, sonny.”

**(To be continued!)**

**Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:**  
 _Freck me dead!_ = _Didn’t see that one coming!/ Oh, my!_  
 _Get stuffed!_ = a firmer version of _“Get lost!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:  
> The poem “To Celia” by Ben Jonson  
> The four virtue’s of Commodus, inspired by his talk to his father, Emperor Marcus Aurelius in the Hollywood blockbuster movie “Gladiator” (2000)  
> Several verses of the song “Summer wine” by Nancy Sinatra (1966)  
> Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki  
> Hidden quotes from SW movies and the SW universe


End file.
